HP 1

[Start reporting to the annex from today.]

After reading the message, Woosung shoved his phone into the pocket of his jumper. It wasn’t even a few days’ notice—they had just told him the day of. Unilaterally. He was upset, but he couldn’t really blame anyone.

It was something he’d seen coming, to some extent.

What the hell is wrong with you?! Are you crazy?!

The pain of hair being yanked out at the roots.

Hey! Hey! Woosung! What are you doing?!

The sticky feel of whiskey trickling down the back of his hand.

Woosung brushed a hand over the cheek that had been slapped, inhaling the still-dry air as deeply as he could. Soon, it would be thick with the damp, sticky scent of night.

He forced himself forward, slowly turning the corner. The shadows cast across the asphalt deepened in the setting sun. Familiar scenery greeted him.

Frosted glass covering the entire front, silver lines trickling down the walls—just from the exterior, it was hard to tell what the building was meant for. It looked like a large boutique or a complex of office spaces.

Maybe the guests had already arrived—several SUVs were parked one space apart from each other. Even so, four spaces still remained.

In a street full of similar establishments, Giraffe was the largest. Unlike other host bars, it was divided into a main building and an annex. Though the clientele differed, both were technically under one roof.

As with all jobs dealing with people, age was the enemy here. The older you got, the less valuable you became. At twenty-six, Woosung was at an age where it wasn’t surprising to be moved to the annex. Up until now, he’d managed to stay because he was still popular with younger female clients… but that was over.

“I’ve had it with taking flak just because you can’t hold your liquor. What did the others ever do to deserve that?”

The voice of Madam Hyung echoed in his head, laced with frustration. He always stepped in to mediate whenever Woosung got caught up in trouble—but when that incident happened, even he couldn’t shield Woosung.

The memory of that night was hazy, yet painfully vivid. The scenes were like lingering afterimages, but the sensations were disturbingly clear. Woosung clenched and unclenched his fist, trying to shake off the sticky feeling clinging to his palm.

“Achoo!”

As late spring settled in, the temperature swings had gotten more extreme. The chill seeping in through his clothes bit at his skin. He had to be careful not to catch a cold. Missing work because of illness meant a direct hit to his own income. Woosung tightened his jacket.

The ground vibrated as a car approached. He soon heard the crunch of tires on loose gravel. A luxury sedan rolled into the lot, its headlights flooding the dim parking area with light. Woosung instinctively stepped aside.

The man who got out of the driver’s seat circled around the front of the car and opened the back door. Another man stepped out—this one dressed casually in a comfortable-looking tracksuit. He stretched, then took a sip from the can of cola in his hand.

…The annex floor manager?

That was Woosung’s first thought. The style was about right. Thom Browne, Prada—managers loved flaunting their labels, wrapping themselves in luxury from head to toe. Even their underwear was expensive. Not that the hosts were much different.

But Woosung had never seen a floor manager ride in the back of a Rolls-Royce. He lowered his head and began to walk slowly, just in case the man was a guest. No point in catching his eye and getting on his bad side.

On his way, Woosung bent to pick up a few discarded cigarette butts. He was turning toward the automatic doors when he noticed the man had gotten closer.

Woosung took a step back and subtly gestured for the man to go ahead.

Clang!

Something rolled near his feet—a crumpled can.

It stopped a few steps away, spewing out the remaining liquid.

Coca-Cola Zero Sugar. Woosung stared blankly at the letters wrapped around the can, then looked up.

The man was staring straight at him, one hand shoved into the pocket of his sweatpants.

“What.”

His sharply angled left eyebrow arched—clearly asking What are you looking at?

“…”

Woosung bit his lower lip and lowered his head without protest. There was something unsettling about the man’s presence. His instincts told him to tread carefully.

Besides, there were two of them. Behind the guy who threw the can stood another man, dressed in a suit and about the same height. He was the one who’d circled around to open the back door earlier.

Woosung kept his head down and waited for them to go inside. I’ll pick up the can after they’re gone, he thought.

But then, the man kicked the can.

Clank. It rolled back toward Woosung’s feet.

Clear provocation.

No doubt about it—he was from the annex staff. He must’ve heard about what happened in the main building.

“Not gonna pick it up?”

“…Excuse me?”

The man lazily jerked his chin toward the can.

“I helped by kicking it closer. Hurry up and pick it up.”

Shameless. Woosung’s gaze dropped to the can again, following the trail of dark liquid it left on the ground.

He sighed silently and picked it up, suppressing the frustration that bubbled to his throat.

“You a janitor or something?”

“…No.”

“Then why are you cleaning up?”

Why throw trash at someone and then ask that?

“It’s just… there was trash on the ground.”

Woosung gently shook the can, trying to gauge how much was left inside. If it was still heavy, he’d stop by the restroom before heading to the waiting room and dump it out.

The man stared at him with mild curiosity.

“Alright then. Keep it up.”

Just as quickly, he lost interest and turned away. His massive frame pivoted, and the other man—still standing like a statue—pressed the PUSH button beside the glass doors.

“Oh.”

The man suddenly turned back, like he’d remembered something. He pointed behind him.

The direction his finger indicated was the very parking spot where the Rolls-Royce had pulled in earlier.

“There’s trash over there too.”

When Woosung looked at him in disbelief, the man grinned.

“Then good luck.”

As the glass door opened, the familiar scent of the air freshener wafted out. The man disappeared through it.

What a strange guy.

Woosung watched his broad back recede into the building. Only after a full minute passed did he finally start walking again.

But not before picking up the trash next to the Rolls-Royce, just like the man had said.

＊＊＊

The annex was in the basement.

Woosung, who’d always gone upstairs, stepped down into the basement for the first time. The waiting room didn’t look much different from the main building. Except for the seats, everything else was clutter—clutches, dress shoes, coats tossed around in disarray. Not a single item wasn’t designer.

The air freshener scent that filled the hallway, the overall view of the room—none of it felt too different from upstairs. Still, just being underground made the air feel strangely heavier.

Woosung sat in a corner of the waiting room, trying to adjust to his new environment. A few people glanced at him with curious expressions, but no one started a conversation. He quietly watched a small group sitting around, gambling on card games.

“You want one?”

The guy next to him, munching on a hot bar, suddenly held out a new one, still in its wrapper. When Woosung hesitated, not taking it right away, the guy spoke again, sounding friendly.

“It was a two-plus-one deal. Go ahead.”

“I’m good. I just brushed my teeth.”

“Oh, really? Chanil, you want it?”

The guy sprawled out on the opposite couch, tapping away on his phone, replied casually, “Just leave it there. I’ll eat it after a room.”

The first guy tossed the hot bar toward him without much care.

“How old are you, by the way? You’re older than me, right?”

Chewing away at his snack, the guy asked with a curious look. His neatly slicked-back hair and semi-formal attire tried to give a mature impression, but he still looked pretty young.

“Twenty-six.”

“Yup, hyung. Most of the guys here are older than me. You just looked young, so I thought maybe…”

He laughed and tossed his empty hot bar stick onto the table.

“I’m Hyojun. Park Hyojun. In the room, they call me Jaewoo… but whatever. Just call me Hyojun, hyung.”

“I’m Woosung. Yoon Woosung.”

“Oh, Woosung? Like victory? Win?”

When Woosung nodded with a small smile, Hyojun tilted his head and asked, “Your real name?”

Another nod.

“You look even gentler when you smile,” Hyojun said, pulling down the corners of his eyes in a playful exaggeration. “You better not smile in the room, though.”

He kept babbling lightheartedly, and Woosung smiled politely in return. It felt awkward, sure—but it was better than sitting like a lump, ignored. Having someone talk to him helped ease the tension.

“Choice’s up.”

A man in a crisp shirt stepped into the waiting room.

“It’s a re-choice, so only the guys who didn’t go in earlier.”

That was Manager Kim Jungo—known to everyone simply as Manager Kim, one of the floor managers of the annex. He scanned the room, then pointed.

“You. You.”

He picked out a few.

“Jaewoo, did you go in earlier?”

“Nope.”

“Then you too. And the guy next to you… what’s your name?”

He was pointing at Woosung. Before he could answer, Hyojun jumped in.

“Oh, he’s new today. First day.”

“I asked for his name.”

Woosung squeezed his knees tightly and said, “Yoon Woosung.”

“Alright, you too.”

Manager Kim glanced at his watch.

“Move it. You’re too damn slow.”

He barked at the sluggish ones standing up.

A crowd of hosts spilled out of the waiting room and walked down the hallway. The hallway, too, wasn’t much different from the main building—lined with doors along the wall and large potted plants in the corners.

They stopped in front of a door labeled “Room 7.” Manager Kim halted them there. Everyone stood against the wall, waiting for the door to open.

“That’s weird. Why is Manager Kim doing a choice for Room 7…?”

Woosung overheard Hyojun mutter under his breath and straightened his posture, brushing down his clothes. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest. It always did before going into a room, but today it was worse than usual.

Must be the new environment…

“Choice is here.”

Kim Jungo knocked twice and entered first. Inside, a soft gray fabric sofa was arranged in a U-shape, with a sleek black rectangular table in the middle. The lighting wasn’t too dim, so it didn’t scream nightlife. In fact, it felt brighter than most of the other rooms.

Woosung entered fifth—and immediately widened his eyes.

At the head seat sat a man. Dressed casually in a tracksuit, he wasn’t a stranger.

“…”

The man took a deep drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly. Smoke drifted into the air as his eyes moved deliberately from left to right.

After a moment, he ground out the cigarette in the ashtray between his fingers. Ssshhk—a sharp burn that left an acrid smell behind.

“Jungo.”

“Yes, boss.”

Kim Jungo replied respectfully, hands clasped in front of him.

“Are we that short on guys?”

The man rubbed his temple as he uncrossed his legs. Before Manager Kim could answer, the man spoke again.

“You got the janitor doing choice now?”

His voice sounded almost playful—almost. But there was a sharp edge behind the smirk.